


just take some time

by cynical_optimist



Series: you know you can work it out again [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Bedsharing, M/M, Pining, Sleepless nights, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9824657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical_optimist/pseuds/cynical_optimist
Summary: Ransom looks back at his textbook and Holster sits in the silence that gathers between them. It’s never been uncomfortable for them, not really. Even when they’re fighting over futures and the terrifying uncertainty of them after college, silence has never been tense between them. This, here-- this is the opposite of tense, the opposite of uncomfortable. This is the Ransom and Holster he wishes they could be all the time. Just the two of them, fond and comfortable in each others’ presence.-Ransom can't sleep, which means Holster won't either.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It is the middle of the night and I cannot sleep, so I have written a fic about holsom being awake at midnight and unable to sleep. I hate myself and also everything.
> 
> Written at 12am and unbeta'd. I'll probably edit in the morning. Title from Aquilo's [Never Seen You Get So Low](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dla7FT3LYpE).

His first year of sharing the attic with Ransom, Holster slept through every noise and movement his roommate made, even around exam time, when the downstairs residents would complain about the midnight pacing. He has two sisters, both of whom share a somewhat tumultuous relationship with sleep, so he’s used to the disturbance, used to ignoring it. Unless his best friend decided to crawl into his bed, as he did with increasing frequency through their second year together, he slept through the night and dealt with an exhausted Ransom in the morning.

As they’ve approached graduation, though, Holster’s found it increasingly difficult to ignore Ransom’s stressing at one in the morning, and he’s suffering.

After the third burst of muted swearing over a flashlight-lit textbook, Holster sits up in his bed, almost knocking his head on the top bunk. He’d thought he’d get used to that at least  after the first couple of months in the bunk, but it’s been almost three years and he’s half-certain he has a permanent bruise.

“Bro,” he mutters, squinting at the light. “Please go to bed.”

“Yeah, soon,” Ransom replies distractedly-- does he really think that an answer like that will fool Holster, after so long as best bros?

“Right,” he says. “I won’t find you passed out on your textbook like I did this morning--yesterday morning. Whatever.”

“I’ll sleep when I finish reviewing this chapter,” Ransom says. “Honest.”

“Dude, you gave the entire haus a massive lecture on the importance of sleep, like, last year.”

Ransom makes a noise of offended disgust at the reminder. “Shitty wanted to stay awake for  a  _ week _ on a dare from the  _ lacrosse team _ .”

“And you’re going to stay awake for a month for an exam you’re going to pass anyway, so.” Holster hates himself for how confrontational the words sound when they leave his mouth, for the way he knows Ransom’s eyebrows must be drawing together, shoulders tightening. He feels for his glasses, puts them on, catches Ransom’s gaze. “Holy hell, Rans, you can afford to take a break for a while.”

It’s the wrong thing to say-- it’s been so hard to find the right thing, lately, harder than it’s ever been. Holster feels himself making misstep after misstep, and he never quite knows how to fix it, how to hold onto what he has right in front of him. Ransom’s face goes still.

“Just because you have everything figured out,”  he replies, which is just  _ not true _ , firstly, but Holster understands where he’s coming from. “I need to do well on this exam, okay? I can handle the loss of a couple of nights’ sleep. Go back to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Holster narrows his eyes, makes a hasty decision. He has a morning class, but-- this is more important. Ransom is more important than one class.

“Nah,” he answers, and Ransom looks up from his textbook in shock.

“What?”

“Nah, I won’t go back to bed. If you’re awake, so am I. We pull off kegsters every week, we can handle this, right?”

Ransom frowns. “You need your sleep.”

Holster shrugs. “What’s one night in the name of studying?”

“You’re not even-- you don’t have any assignments due for, like, a month.”

He stands, pulls over a chair. “Do you need me to quiz you?”

“You have that lecture with the asshole teacher tomorrow, don’t you? The one that throws students out for dozing off?”

“I guess I’m drinking a lot of coffee,” Holster answers. He peers at the page. “Also, I can’t pronounce anything in this textbook.”

“Oh my god, Holster, go the fuck to sleep,” Ransom insists, but there’s a fond edge to his scowl.

Holster grins at him, fighting off a yawn. “Nah.” He clears his throat, looks away for a moment, then, “Couldn’t sleep with all the noise you  were making, anyway.” It’s not what he means to say, not really, but he doesn’t know how to word it otherwise.

“Please,” Ransom replies. “It’s shocking you can even sleep over your own snoring.”

He gasps, mock offended. “I do not  _ snore _ !” He does. It’s been a constant complaint in his family since he was six years old, and half the reason he never had to share with any of his sisters.

“Sure, bro.”

“I guess neither of us will know, tonight.” Holster leans back in his chair, tries to ignore the heavy exhaustion sitting in his bones.

Ransom looks back at his textbook and Holster sits in the silence that gathers between them. It’s never been uncomfortable for them, not really. Even when they’re fighting over futures and the terrifying uncertainty of  _ them _ after college, silence has never been tense between them. This, here-- this is the opposite of tense, the opposite of uncomfortable. This is the Ransom and Holster he wishes they could be all the time. Just the two of them, fond and comfortable in each others’ presence.

Holster yawns, blinking at their ceiling.

“You can go to bed, you know.”

“Nah.”

Ransom looks back up at him, uncapped highlighter poised above the text. “You being here isn’t going to convince me to go to bed earlier.”

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t even sleep if I did go to bed,” Ransom continues. “I’d just be awake, torturing myself.”

“I know, man. I’ve lived with you for three years, you know?” It sucks for Ransom, but telling him to go to sleep when he’s anxious over an exam is probably the worst thing Holster has ever done in all their years of friendship. The delicate coral reef that is Ransom during exam season takes much more finesse than that.

Ransom nods, taps the highlighter against the desk. “We can go to bed after this chapter,” he says, and there’s more resolve in his voice than there was earlier.

“Cool.”

“I don’t think it’ll take any more than twenty minutes.”

“Take your time.”

Ransom smiles, finally, soft and grateful, and Holster hates how his heart skips over the expression. “Thanks, bro.”

“Anytime.” Holster looks back at the ceiling so he doesn’t keep staring at his best friend. There is a time and a place for pining, and this is not one of them. He’s too vulnerable, too open, too tired. He feels like he’d let the truth spill out if he looked at Ransom looking like that for more than a moment at a time, feels like it’s so obvious that anyone could read it, feels like every beat of his heart proclaims it every moment he’s around him.

Holy hell, it’s too early for this nonsense. Or too late. Jesus, Holster doesn’t know.

Before he knows it, Ransom stretches and taps his arm. “Okay, man.  Bedtime.”

Holster nods, rolling his neck. “Cool.” He doesn’t move for a moment, wanting to let his eyes drift closed.

“Dude, you will regret sleeping in this chair,” Ransom says. “Like, seriously regret it.”

“Yeah.” It’s still another beat before Holster moves, but he at least prides himself in not stumbling when he stands. “Okay, sleep time.”

“Yep.” Ransom hesitates. “Hey, um, can I--?”

“Of course, bro,” Holster replies, knowing that stance, that look, that tone. He takes off his glasses as he moves to his bed, makes room for Ransom. “No ghost excuse, tonight?”

“Okay, firstly, they’re real,” Ransom protests, settling into the bed. “Secondly, I haven’t used it in, like, a year.”

“Sure, bro.”

When they settle into the bed together, arms and legs overlapping, Holster feels a deep contentment, like something that’s been wrong for too long has been set right. It’s like they’ve been clicked back into alignment, missteps righted. Ransom burrows his head into Holster’s shoulder, warm breath fanning over his neck, and despite everything--

Despite anything else that may be going on in Holster’s mind or heart, despite the chilling unpredictability of their future, this feels  _ right _ , and  _ true _ , and, in the moment, it feels like forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [my tumblr](http://boxesfullofthoughts.tumblr.com/).


End file.
